


Twelve Years Deep

by NkyOT



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hogwarts Third Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marauders, One Shot, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NkyOT/pseuds/NkyOT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After twelve long years, it still felt as if his heart had been hollowed out with a spoon, a gaping hole where Sirius' name used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Years Deep

 

> _"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."  
>  _
> 
> _\- Kahlil Gibran_

Remus thought he would never set eyes upon him again; he had truly, honestly believed that. It had been so easy to accept that fact, much easier than it ever would be to let go of the man himself. (The grip that he had around Remus’ heart was so inexplicably tight that now, even years later, when Sirius was dogging the corners of his mind, it was hard to breathe).

For twelve long, cold years, he bundled himself up against howling winds and dark, empty nights, and suffered through the months alone. He tried not to think about the young man who had betrayed him, who had betrayed everyone. It hurt to think of him; it hurt so much, because Remus honestly thought he knew Sirius better than anyone, knew he was better than that. But just like his own lycanthropy curled its way through his veins — a vicious disease, an incurable curse — Remus guessed that the Black ran too deep within Sirius’ blood, deeper in his heart than Remus could’ve ever hoped to reach. There was no running, no denying, the truths within you; Remus knew that well.

Some nights, Remus could honestly say he hated him; he hated that he missed the mutt so much it felt like his soul would rip in two. He tried not to think about how he could still feel Sirius’ hand resting tenderly against his cheek, fingers stroking gently at his brow as he struggled each month with the recession of the full moon. His body had been throbbing and sore, eyes too heavy to open and limbs too heavy to move; but Sirius' soft whispers had always chased it all away. Remus hated that there was no one left to ease his pain.

The first time they kissed, it was behind a suit of armour on the fifth floor. They'd been bickering. Remus had stammered an undignified curse, anger mottling his cheeks as he attempted to crack Sirius over the head with a book. Sirius caught his arm easily, called him a prick and crowded his space. Remus braced himself for the punch. But Sirius just swore loudly, shoved him into the wall and smashed his lips against Remus’ own. He was suddenly gripping Remus' wrist, his waist, grappling with his thready sweater as if terrified Remus would push him away. Remus almost did. Somewhere to their left, James squawked, _"Bloody hell!"_ , but Remus barely noticed. He didn't resist. It was all teeth and wet, digging tongues, and the anger died somewhere in the back of his throat around a satisfied groan. It was incredible. But then Sirius had avoided him for two weeks, and Remus had wanted to gut himself with a spoon.

Those two weeks had nothing on twelve years. God, how Remus hated that man; he was _so angry,_ so incomprehensible with grief. Sirius was a traitor, a coward. A Black through and through after all. Remus couldn’t help but wonder if he’d done it to make his mother proud, to ease the pain of having a failure and fucking queer for a son.

Remus had tried to lock away his feelings, he really had, and for the most part he was able to walk the halls of Hogwarts twelve years later without falling to his knees and screaming. He couldn’t stop his heart lurching painfully in his chest, though, as he walked past the armour on the fifth floor. But he managed to push through, he managed to crawl against the pain and the anger and the misery, and for one brief moment he thought he could leave Sirius behind.

But no. Never. They met again, in the shack where they used to prowl as Moony and as Padfoot with Peter and James, and for a moment it was cruelly, callously perfect. But Prongs wasn’t there, and Peter was a sniveling, traitorous wreck, and Sirius wasn’t the same. He was ragged and broken, all jutting bones and sharp joints, a haunted fever bright in his eyes. He staggered on tired limbs, body weak and trembling, and this was not a man Remus recognised.

But then, with one soft noise from those lips, one forlorn little whine that was so intimately Padfoot, it was. And Remus was suddenly seventeen again, locking lips with that damn mutt whose stupid grin still made Remus’ heart lurch after all these years. Words were spilling unchecked from between their frantic kiss, and it took Remus a moment to realise it was him, twelve unbearable years of anguish bleeding out on the heels of just three syllables. Sirius’ hand was warm on the back of his neck — soothing, comforting, as if it was Remus who needed holding up — and as heard his voice for the first time in twelve years, Remus began to sob.

_“Remus,”_ Sirius said, fists curled in his sweater. "Remus."

They sat on the dusty floor of the old shack for a long time. Sirius didn’t say anything else. He’d just wanted to say Remus' name.


End file.
